Born of a Realization
by IPutTheSassInAssassin
Summary: Shay has dedicated his life to the Templar cause; however, the past can't be erased. The Brotherhood will stop at nothing to exact their vengeance and reclaim what was taken from them. Shay's guilt and newly-awoken affections are only complicating the situation further. *Eventual Shaytham*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This starts off right after Rogue, will reach into the 1780's *MAJOR AC: ROGUE AND AC:3 SPOILERS*

* * *

><p>A moment is all it takes for everything to change, for everything to fall apart. A careless move, a slight of the hand, a moment's hesitation.<p>

Shay had been jostled awake by the rocking of the ship. The unnatural, _violent_ rocking of the ship. Confused and still half-asleep, he rubbed his eyes and glanced around the room. Few of the crew were below deck with him, and those that were there had seemingly been rendered speechless, sitting against the walls rocking themselves in a weak attempt to calm down. Everything about this screamed '_something is horribly wrong'_, but in this state, he couldn't grasp what it was.

Another violent lurch of the ship had Shay stumble, forcing him to grab the edge of a post to keep himself from falling. At least now the last hints of sleep had vanished and his full attention snapped to the man closest to him.

He questioned the man, but received no answer. Frustrated, Shay mumbled, quickly making his way on deck to find out for himself just what the hell was going on.

Immediately he was bombarded by cold, sharp rain. Shouts and cries were muffled by the thunderclaps and crashing of waves against the ship. The vessel teetered dangerously to one side, a few of the men losing their footing and plummeting into the sea.

Shay found his father, thankfully holding tight to the main mast. They locked eyes for but a moment before another powerful wave rocked the ship once more, and the older man's grip failed him. Shay carefully but quickly pulled himself over, holding the mast as he leaned towards his father, arm outstretched.

The next few moments would forever be seared into the young teen's mind.

Time had slowed to a snail's crawl, the whole world gone except for the teen reaching for his father, desperate eyes locked on one another. Just as his Father reached for him, Shay's other hand slipped from the slicked mast. Survival instinct forced him to clamber backwards, to cling to the mast to stop himself from tumbling overboard.

He had pulled away a moment too soon and eyes widened in horror as his Father plummeted into the water below, swallowed by its darkness never to be found again.

Shay woke with a sharp intake of breath, entire body covered with sweat. For the longest of minutes, the room itself seemed to sway and Shay was more than certain he was in his hammock below deck of his father's ship.

He lay for a few moments in silence, waiting for the nausea and the anxiety to pass before he would make his way on deck.

His breathing finally evened out and the swaying stopped. Slowly he came to realize he wasn't actually laying on a hammock, he was lying in a bed. He stilled in his confusion until memories resurfaced, everything that had happened through the years passed weighing on him once again.

Shay let out a heavy sigh, dragging his hand down his face, but the image of his father would not fade from his mind. After all these years, after everything that had happened since that night, the memory was still so vivid to him. More clear it seemed, than the events of just the previous day.

With a considerable amount of effort, Shay forced himself out of bed, dressed, and made his way outside. The sun had not yet risen and the air still held a cold bite to it. Waking so early had become a regular habit for Shay. Not that he preferred it, but sleep had become problematic, his dreams plagued once again with memories of the past. Of his father, of Liam, and Hope...

Recently Shay found his thoughts ever revolving around the past, almost obsessive in their insistence. The lives lost in Lisbon still haunted him, constantly clawing at the back of his mind and invading his thoughts and dreams. The lives of his fallen friends only added to that ever-growing burden. All this time he'd hoped that by stopping the Assassins, the guilt would somehow… fade.

It hadn't.

Before, Shay could turn to his missions and Templar duties to distract him from the pain, but the war was over now. The Assassins were scarce and as of yet held little threat. There was little for Shay to do other than search for the box, as Haytham had ordered, but the task was growing more tiresome each week. No real progress was to be had; it was as though the thing had vanished, or perhaps never existed at all.

That afternoon, he was due to meet the Grand Master and fellow Templars at the Green Dragon to report any developments on the search for the box. Developments that, of course, didn't exist. He could only hope Haytham would give him something else to do, _anything _to occupy his anguished mind.


	2. Chapter 2

"How fares the search?" Haytham began, watching Shay carefully.

"I've been unable to locate the box. Wherever Chevalier sent it, he was careful to cover its tracks."

Shay could feel the critical eyes of all the other Templars gathered at the table trained on him, especially that of Charles Lee. The man was ever watchful of him, though the reason had quickly become clear after Shay had worked with him for a few weeks. It was pure jealousy.

Charles had been in the order for years already. Shay only had two years under his allegiance to the order, and above all else, Shay had been an Assassin. So for a man who was already fighting for the Grand Master's attention, Shay was a hindrance, an annoyance. Why the hell did Haytham trust him so?

Haytham shifted in his seat, eyebrows furrowed, "I see."

"I will get it back, sir, I swear it. Like I said, it will take time."

"I'm sure you will."

"Uh, Sir…" Charles cut in, crossing his arms, "There are more pressing matters at hand than that blasted _box_."

Haytham turned to Charles, slight scowl on his face, "Care to enlighten me then, Charles?"

Charles straightened in his chair, chin up, "Cook was found dead a few mornings ago in Carolina. Murdered."

Shay's chest tightened. He and Cook hadn't really been close, but still. They had been allies, had worked and sailed together on several occasions. Though not a Templar himself, Cook's loss would be a devastation felt by the entire order.

"How?"

"A single stab wound through the chest. Witnesses say he was at a harbormaster buying ammunition for his ship when someone - 'in rather suspicious clothing' - came out from the bushes and stabbed him. The killer was gone before anyone had even noticed."

Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Assassins, no doubt."

Shay fidgeted. What could the Assassins be up to? Had he not recently slain most of their brotherhood?

"I'm afraid so."

"Investigate the area. R-"

"I'll do it." Shay blurted out. Each of the Templars' attentions snapped towards him. Charles scowled. Haytham eyed Shay in a mix of irritation and curiosity.

Shay continued, "I can look for the box at the same time. I just need _something _more to do." He wouldn't mention the nightmares.

Haytham nodded, "Alright."

The remainder of the meeting passed in dull normalcy. Just the reviewing of the financial status of the order, reports on suspicious activities, small betrayals within the order. Nothing major like Cook's death.

Finally, chair legs squeaked against the floorboards as everyone stood to take their leave.

"Wait." Haytham said, turned to Shay. Confused and slightly anxious, Shay nodded and returned to his seat, weary of Charles's glare as he passed by. Neither Templar spoke until all the others had left.

"What's going on, Shay?"  
>"Nothing, Sir."<p>

"You've been quiet and you look like shit. I won't ask again."

Shay shifted uncomfortably, "Just… memories."

Haytham nodded slowly, "Is this going to hinder your mission?"

"Of course not, Sir. I'm fine."

"I expect you to report back as soon as possible. And if there are Assassins… deal with them. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir…"

"Good."

* * *

><p>The first place Shay and his first mate, Gist, decided to investigate was the harbormaster where Cook's body had been discovered. Questioning the harbormaster himself proved fruitless. Apparently the attack had been implemented right <em>after <em>their interactions, and the killer's face had been obscured by none other than a white, beaked hood.

The pair decided to split up to investigate further, Gist taking to the taverns and inns to listen in on gossip while Shay stayed at the crime scene a while longer.

Shay found it difficult to concentrate. Flashes from his nightmares still lingering in his mind, making Eagle Vision an impossibility. Shay paced, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself.

During the voyage from New York, the nightmares had continued, merciless in their cruelty. Shay was forced to watch his father falling into the depths of the ocean over and over again every night. A constant reminder that his father was dead now because of _his _carelessness.

Shay sighed and took a seat on a lone bench not far away, gaze on the ground. He had to focus on the mission at hand; what were the Assassins up to and how many were there? Not only this, but_ who_ were they and where had they come from?

Did _Achilles_ somehow have a part in this? Shay doubted it. The man probably couldn't even walk, much less commit murder or train more Assassins in his stead. There were just too many variables and no answers.

When Shay finally _was_ able to concentrate and utilize his gift, he could find nothing to clue him in to the identity of the killer. The Assassin's trail was long gone.

Shay muttered under his breath. How the hell were they supposed to find this Assassin? He could only hope Gist was having better luck with his own investigations.

The sky was quickly darkening, evening giving way to night. The civilians disappeared into the safety of their homes. With no new information to show for his efforts, Shay resentfully set out to find Gist and enquire of his success. If there was to be any, that is. Unfortunately, this too had to wait.

Shay stilled as a curious noise hit his ears. The noise steadily grew louder and clearer, growing from a dull hum to a series of unintelligible whispering. He made no move, concentrating on his surroundings, trying to discern the whereabouts of his stalker. As he always had in this situation, he felt like open prey to some dangerously wild animal getting ready to pounce. It was… unnerving, to say the least.

Seconds ticked by, the whispering unchanging. Shay waited.

Through this patience he didn't miss the faint click of the gun far behind him, and managed to lunge out of the way just as a bullet hissed through the air, mere inches from his face. He dug a heel firmly into the dirt, using the momentum to spin himself around, taking chase to his assailant; a lone figure clad in Assassin garb.

Just as quickly as Shay had set upon him, the Assassin turned tail and ran. Shay was able to discern for but a moment, the man's face as he had turned away. Dark eyes, caramel hair that stirred something deep within Shay, filling him with a strong sense of deja-vu.

The chase didn't last long. It seemed fortune hadn't favored Shay that day, for the Assassin was able to round sharp corners and shake off his pursuer before he could catch up.

Shay finally slowed to a halt, panting as he tried to catch on to the Assassin's trail with eagle vision. It was useless. The man was gone and Shay had failed.

Oh how displeased Haytham would be if he were only there to see him.

* * *

><p>Shay was kept awake long into the morning hours, tossing and turning in his bed aboard the Morrigan. These Assassins, they were smart and extremely careful. Not even Gist could find out their whereabouts.<p>

Yet what was more unsettling to Shay was the undeniable sense of familiarity he had felt upon seeing the Assassin's face. He was unable to produce a name or a memory to associate the man with, but the sense of having knowing the Assassin was far too strong to ignore or shrug off as accident. None of this was making any sense.

Finally exhaustion overtook Shay, but the dreams he was drug into… they were no comfort. At least today he wasn't met with a stormy night upon his father's boat.

This time his dreams placed him in a tavern, slouched over a table with a glass of whiskey in hand. Not an unfamiliar sight; after his father's death, getting drunk in a tavern such as this had become something of a nightly routine, but that had been so long ago… before the Templars, before becoming an Assassin, before even reuniting with Liam.

Shay was joined then, by a guy not much older than he himself was in this memory. A man with dark eyes and caramel hair. They spoke, but the conversation was lost to Shay, muffled and unintelligible, as if he was listening from another room.

The dream switched then, to a different memory. Again, Shay was with this familiar man, but no longer at a bar. They were seated in a dark, stuffy room, but everything that transpired here was a series of blurry images that somehow brought on a sense mixed of anxiety, anticipation and… peace.

Shay woke with a start, but suddenly had a clear name in which to accompany the Assassin.

Harlan Shaw… an old friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks passed and Harlan didn't show. He'd slunk back into hiding, vanished like a puff of smoke in the night. Eventually the Templar Captain and his first mate were summoned back to New York to discuss the new threat with the other Templars. Now they were all seated around the table at their regular meeting place once again, eyes on Shay.

"You know the fellow? How?" Gist asked, eyeing Shay quizzically. Prompted by his dream, Shay had finally admitted his familiarity with the Assassin in hopes that his fellow Templars would help him discover what it meant.

"I don't know. As soon as I'd seen him he felt familiar. And then my dream... we were in a tavern. The thing is... I can't remember much about him."

Gist considered this a moment. "Did you meet him during Assassin training perhaps?"

"That's the thing. I knew him _before_ that. Harlan isn't a freedom fighter. He's an arrogant asshole concerned only with himself. That's all I know about him."

"You never talk about your time prior to becoming an Assassin. Why?" Haytham asked, hands clasped together on the table.

"It was..." Shay's brows furrowed. He tried to push his memory back to the time before Liam had introduced him to the brotherhood.

Nothing. From the point of his father's death to the day Liam introduced him to Achilles many years later; he came up completely blank. His scowl deepened in anxious frustration. What the hell happened to his memory?

"I can't remember. It's like that whole part of my life has just disappeared."

"Psychogenic amnesia. More commonly known as... repressed memories." Benjamin church chimed in, leaning back in his chair.

"Of course." Haytham sighed, "Caused by what, exactly?"

"Traumatic experiences."

"My father's death." Shay stated, staring far too intensely at a particular chip in side of the table.

"I don't think so. You said you could remember that clearly. If your brain has repressed years worth of memories, it would be counterproductive not to also repress the experience _itself_. Something more must have happened following his death."

Shay tried once more to recall something. He placed himself back at the bar with Harlan, trying to continue the memory or even access events prior to it. It was useless, however.

"Is there any way to retrieve those memories?" Haytham asked.

Church sighed, "Find out what experience caused the amnesia and explore it. From what Shay's told me, I can only assume the Assassin has something to do with it."

"Perfect." Haytham said, though his tone suggested a far different meaning, "A word, Shay?"

Shay eyed Haytham curiously before nodding and following him to the far side of the room.

"I require assurance whatever connection you may have to this Assassin won't get in the way of your mission."

"I already said it wouldn't; that hasn't changed. I will do what I have to."

"Good. I have a task for you and Master Gist. It seems the Assassin has made another appearance. This time in Pennsylvania. See if you might remedy that."

"Right away, Sir."

Haytham nodded and finally took his leave, gaze lingering but a moment longer on Shay.

Once the grand Master was gone, Shay let out a heavy sigh and exited the Green Dragon with Gist, making their way back to the Morrigan. Shay's mind was on overdrive all the while. What the hell had happened to him after his father's death? Who was Harlan to him?

If only Liam was still alive. He could've given him some answers.

If nothing else, Shay was glad to have a lead, if but a small one. Hopefully he could find Harlan in Pennsylvania and start putting the pieces together. The only question was; how would he get those pieces? It was highly unlikely the Assassin would simply lay out the answers for him. There had to be another way.

Unfortunately the mission was anything but smooth. Upon further investigation, the Templars found that the Assassins had taken out several essential Templar moles in Pennsylvania. Without the aid of these spies, Pennsylvania would inevitably become a blind spot, a vulnerability to the order. A perfect hiding spot for a nest of Assassins.

The situation was frustrating to say the least. Moreover, where were they to start their search? There were far too many places in the state suitable as a hiding place or base of operations. They couldn't even be sure how many Assassins there actually were, or if Harlan worked alone.

A week passed without sign of the Assassins. They attempted bribery, listening in on gossip, any possible way of locating Harlan or the Assassins. Nobody was able to give them sufficient information. Every possible lead they chased ended up a dead end.

For hours Shay would sit and ponder, ever determined to remember _something _from the missing years of his life. Nothing worked. If anything, his efforts made sleep ever more difficult and sent his stress levels through the roof.

He was missing a huge chunk of his life and that which he did remember was painful. His memories of Hope and Liam... they used to keep him strong. Now they were just reminders of everything he'd done, all the lives he'd taken.

All this had him wondering; if he'd killed all his comrades, watched his father die, and even caused an earthquake... what could be worse than any of those? What could be so traumatic that would cause him to repress years of memories?

It was only by word of mouth a few days later did Shay and Gist discover Master Weeks would be arriving that evening. They assumed he'd been sent as a reinforcement, or perhaps was on a whole different mission altogether. Either way, his arrival served as a stroke of luck for the two Templars.

Weeks was well-known around the colonies as a Templar. The Assassins wouldn't let such a golden opportunity pass and the pair knew it.

As Master Weeks' ship dropped anchor and Weeks himself stepped onto the dock, Shay and Gist hid within a small throng of pedestrians, covertly scanning the bushes and people. If the Assassin really intended to strike, they would have to catch him and disable him before he managed to hurt Weeks.

Waiting there idly brought the first stirrings of nervousness within Shay. Part of him hoped the familiar Assassin would simply... vanish. Another part desperately wanted him to return, to give him some kind of closure.

"What if the lad doesn't show?" Gist whispered finally, turning to Shay.

Shay sighed and said nothing. He really couldn't decide if the Assassin's absence would be a good thing or not.

The answer would never be realized, for only minutes later did gunfire send the citizens screaming and running. Immediately Shay and Gist turned to watch Weeks fall, blood already soaking through his shirt. Scanning his surroundings, Shay finally caught sight of the Assassin; on the top of a nearby building, holstering his gun and quickly taking off in the opposite direction.

"Help Weeks!" Shay shouted, running for the rooftops before Gist could argue.

Despite his heavy limbs and veins boiling with a familiar rage, Shay managed to reach the rooftop in record time. He stood where he'd spotted Harlan only moments ago, eyes grazing over the pathways and rooftops. Finally he caught sight of Harlan again, down below, snaking his way between the buildings. Shay clambered down to ground-level and took chase to the fleeing assailant.

Hearing the Templar's footsteps, Harlan broke into a run, turning every sharp corner in attempt to shake the man. Unfortunately, he found he couldn't and ended up in a dead end. Panting, he finally turned around and lowered his hood.

Shay withdrew his sword as he looked upon Harlan. Finally he had a chance to see the man up close. He was thin and pale, dark circles around his eyes. What mentor would allow a man in such degenerate health attempt missions? It didn't sit right with Shay.

"Who are you?" Shay asked, their gazes locked.

The hint of a smirk tugged the side of the Assassin's lips, "Your salvation."

Shay suddenly found himself at the ends of several pistols, their owners all sporting the Assassin hood. He should have seen this coming; should have guessed Harlan had been leading him, compared to how quickly he had lost him during their first encounter. Adrenaline and anger had stopped him from thinking clearly. Such was a lesson he'd learned in training for both the brotherhood and the order and yet he'd allowed himself to be caught.

Shay was forced to comply as his wrists were bound with rope, his weapons taken. Harlan whistled a much too upbeat tune, wicked smile playing on his lips as he took out a handkerchief and blindfolded Shay. To where they were leading him, Shay had no idea.


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean Shay's been _kidnapped_?" Haytham practically shouted.

Gist took a step backwards, "We anticipated the attack on Weeks. But then we got separated an-"

"You_ anticipated the attack_? Why didn't you _stop_ the attack?" Haytham slammed his palm against the table. The other Templars said nothing, carefully watching the altercation as it unfolded. It was a rare occasion that the Grand Master would be so angry, but even they might agree it was deserved.

The Templar Order was slowly being crippled by an unknown source, Master Weeks was dead, and now their strongest member had vanished, kidnapped by an enemy nobody could seem to find.

"That was the plan, Sir. We didn't catch him in t-"

"You are to take me to Pennsylvania and we are to find shay and _bring him back_. How you came to be a Templar as you are too incompetent to even save your own _Captain_ is beyond me!" Haytham snarled, hastily exiting the room to retrieve his belongings.

Gist waited, now seething himself. Of course he'd looked for Shay, he wouldn't simply leave him! He'd combed through every street and alleyway of the town after Weeks was proclaimed dead at the scene. For _hours_ he searched, with little luck. It wasn't until the next day that he surrendered to the truth that he needed help and set off to New York to request assistance.

* * *

><p>Days came and went. How many exactly, Shay didn't know. They were spent locked up in a dark, musky warehouse. His own room... or cell, he really wasn't sure what to call it... was void of any furniture. Cold, cement flooring and windowless walls.<p>

The first couple of days he'd actually tried to escape, fighting and struggling against his captors as they first threw him into the room he was now caged in. Then again each time they allowed him entry to a bathroom to relieve himself. Harlan watched these struggles, unamused, but didn't intervene.

Shay's captors followed Harlan's every command without question. One even broke his own arm at Harlan's command. At Harlan's admittance, this was to unnerve their Templar captive and prove his control, how far his pawns were willing to go.

In silent isolation Shay reflected upon that event, wondering what it was Harlan used to keep them obedient. This group of Assassins... they were nothing like he'd experienced with Achilles. What were their true intentions, their true goals?

More accurately, what were_ Harlan's _goals?

Among the Assassins, only one other face was familiar to Shay. Harlan's second in command, whom Shay had overhead the Assassins call 'Lucas'. A man with dark hair and a forever-brooding expression. He was quieter, gaze piercing and watchful.

Yet again, time and time, Shay ran into a mental wall when trying to think of who Lucas or Harlan were to him. It was frustrating to say the least.

Each day, per routine, a scarce plate of food was brought to the Templar by a hooded Assassin who'd say naught a word. Mechanical in his movements, ignoring Shay's inquiries. Today, though, things were different.

Round evening time came and Shay was not met by that quiet, hooded figure he expected. Instead tonight, he was met by Harlan himself, followed by Lucas. Lucas took to leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest while Harlan came to stand over Shay, looking down upon him akin to a parent disgusted with their child. Shay couldn't deny he felt unnerved by this.

"You actually made something of yourself. You've become quite the... uh... legend 'round here."

Shay ignored the comment, "Who are you?"

For the briefest of moments, Harlan seemed taken aback. As fast as the confusion had crossed his face, he reclaimed his usual scowl, "Don't fuck with me. You're still nothing but a kid. Doesn't matter what name you've made for yourself."

Shay stood abruptly then, eyes locked on Harlan's as he growled, "They will come for me. And you will pay."

A sharp pain exploded in Shay's jaw as a fist met his face. He saw the second one coming, attempted even to block it, but Harlan managed to parry that and land another punch.

Shay stumbled backward, hand shooting to his aching jaw. Blood dripped down his chin, onto the floor from his busted lip. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

Harlan scoffed "'They?' You mean the _Templars_? Don't you think they would've come by now?"

Shay said nothing, glaring up at the man. Harlan continued.

"Maybe they realized how much a filthy rat you are and decided to leave you behind. Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. You _still_ owe me, you know. I intend to collect my payment."

"I _don't know _what you're talking about."

Harlan growled and made to attack again, until Lucas spoke up, "Harlan. I think the kid is serious."

Silently, Lucas made his way over to Harlan, eyes locked on Shay all the while, as if analyzing him. "You know he can't lie for shit and right now? He's not even flinchin'"

Harlan sputtered, "How can he just- just_ forget _everything?!"

"Psychogenic amn-" Shay began and was promptly cut off.

"Amnesia. His brain's repressed the memories. It's a means of protection from ill experiences." Lucas grinned, turning to Harlan, as if it were some inside joke passing between them.

_They know what caused this. _

Harlan stared at Shay for quite some time before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Like he'd known what the Templar was thinking. The sound sent a nervous shudder down the Shay's spine as he took several measured steps backwards. Was Harlan _insane_?

This continued much too long before Harlan finally calmed himself down and said, "Well isn't that just fucking _great_."

Then Harlan took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, taking a long hit from it before he spoke again, "Doesn't change anything, Hop-head. I still hold you to your debt, whether you 'remember' it or not."

Before Shay could respond, Harlan turned to take his leave, Lucas trailing behind him.

Alone once again in the empty, musky room, Shay sat against the far wall. What debt was Harlan talking about? What was a _Hop-head_? Absentmindedly, he pressed a hand against his still-aching jaw. Harlan sure knew how to punch. And deceive. And manipulate.

A dangerous trio, indeed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>June 1747<strong>_

"_You need to stop hanging around Harlan, Shay." Liam growled as he pulled Shay out of the tavern._

_Shay was currently holding a rag to his bleeding nose. Yet again he'd gotten into a fight, this time over some tough guy bullying his girlfriend. As it turned out, the guy could dish insults but couldn't take them. Despite that, he was also rather popular with the tavern-goers and actually knew how to fight._

_Harlan had actually aided Shay in the fight before Liam showed up. That's how it always happened; Shay got into trouble, Harlan joined in and then Liam got them out of it._

"_You act like you own me! Besides, you're the one who introduced us."_

_Liam scowled, "He was a different man back then."_

"_What's so bad about him now?"_

"_He's a drug addict. Opium dealer." Liam halted, turned to Shay, "He'll do anything to get power over you, Shay. He's no good. Stay away from him."_

"_Whatever you say, Liam."_

_Not believing a word Liam had said, Shay returned to Harlan but a few days later, meeting him at the very same tavern. It was their usual hang-out spot, after all. Even if Liam had been truthful... that still didn't stop Shay from wanting to hang out with his best friend._

"_I wanted to thank you, Harlan. For stickin' up for me in that fight."_

_Harlan smiled and nodded to the empty seat across from him. _

_Once Shay took his seat, he said, "I have a question, Harlan."_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Liam said you were... a dealer."_

_Harlan scowled and sighed heavily, "So that damn wretch told you my secret, eh? Should really mind his own damn-"_

"_I want to try it." _

_Eyes widened as Harlan looked back at Shay, "...Why?"_

_Shay shrugged, "Maybe it'll ease my... anxiety."_

"_You're still feelin' guilty about what happened to your father?"_

_Shay nodded, averting his gaze, "I know it's pathetic, but... I keep having nightmares about it. Every thought goes back to him... I miss him so, so much, Harlan... the guilt just eats at me all the time. I can't do anything, I can't _feel _anything other than the pain."_

_Harlan nodded, "I see. Maybe it _could_ do you a bit of good. Come on, follow me. I'll set you up."_


End file.
